Visions
by blue peanut m and m
Summary: A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.
1. Chapter 1

**Visions.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Just playing in Kripkie's sandbox.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . As a lover of Sam's visions, and a believer that they never really did enough with them, I thought I would do a series of short chapters based on them. So here's chapter 1, enjoy. Peanut x**

Sam turned his face into his pillow as a scream was torn from deep within him, ripping through his throat only to be caught and muffled by the cushion. He kept his face firmly planted within the folds of cotton and feathers until the fear had abated; his breathing escaping from him in fast short pants, intensifying the heat around his face, eating up all the fresh cool oxygen until all that was left was a cloying sticky wetness that suffocated his battling lungs. He turned away then, gulping down the dry air, his senses on high alert as he waited to see if his latest night terror had woken the other occupant of the too small motel room, relief washing over him as his brother still slept on, his body twisted in the sheets, his hand still thrust under his pillow caressing the blade that Sam knew he always kept there. Rolling over onto his back, Sam stared blindly at the water marks that coated the off white ceiling tiles, the brown stains mingling and merging into one as his sight blurred, salty tears forming before being released from the blue green orbs to trace silently down cheeks just forming their first adolescent stubble. He scrubbed a hand harshly at the wetness, annoyed at what would be seen in his fathers eyes as a show of weakness, and closed his lids tightly in an attempt to stop the flow, but repeated showings of what had disturbed him so much playing in glorious Technicolor against the black background forced his eyes to open to escape the images, and allowed the tears to roll unhindered once more.

He turned over, his back to his sleeping sibling, a position he very rarely slept in, the need to hide his discomfort, his fears from Dean overwhelming him. He shuddered as the cold night air found it's way through gaps in his blankets to run it's chillness over his sweat soaked t-shirt, his hand snaking back behind him to pull the comforting warmth up closer to his neck and block the tendrils from reaching him. He maneuvered a hand from beneath the blankets to kneed at his throbbing head. An ache so agonizing, so intense forming he swore blind his head was about to explode. He tried to sleep, his body requesting it, his head craving it, but each time he tried he was reminded of what he had seen, a dream so vivid, so graphic, Sam was sure it had to be real. He trembled, unable to stop, as the dream recreated itself in his mind, the images playing even though his eyes were now firmly open; his stomach churning, his dinner threatening a reappearance. Graying skin pulled taught over aged bones, teeth as sharp as needles bared in a ferocious scowl, fingers that now resembled talons dripping crimson droplets from their ends, his father's pained features as the talons sank into his flesh again and again.

He bolted from the bed, as he witnessed his dad's life blood gushing from vicious wounds, falling to the ground were it was greedily swallowed and consumed, his stomach rolling, bile rising and burning his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop the vile liquid from escaping; his other hand fumbling with the bathroom door, harshly throwing it open when he had managed to turn the knob, the wooden structure crashing against the thin walls in Sam's haste to reach the porcelain vessel and expel his meager meal. Heave after heave ravaged his thin frame, leaving him a sobbing, spent, sweating wreak sat with his legs splayed either side of him on the dirty linoleum floor, shivers once more rattling his body. He jumped, startled as a hand clamped down on his shoulder, the comforting presence of his brother grounding him, whilst at the same time saddening him all the more. How could he tell him what he had seen? Would Dean believe him, if he swore it felt real? Shame washed over him, he was being stupid, it was just a dream. Dean would never react like this. He tried to pull himself together as his brother spoke, lies falling easily from his lips as he told Dean that it was only a dream, his eyes never quite able to meet his siblings so sure was he that Dean would be able to read the deceit he was sure blazed from them. He could sense Dean's anxiousness, his brother's uncertainty, and tried his best to hide his fears, knowing he had succeeding somewhat as his brother's hand reached down to help him up; Sam grateful for the assistance as he stumbled back to his bed on legs that felt boneless.

He fell wearily into the cotton folds, embracing the warmth that still lingered there, but the images still played preventing him from truly relaxing into exhaustion. He tried to pretend, tried to fake sleep, but he knew he wasn't fooling his brother, could feel Dean's green orbs boring into him; yet still he kept his eyes closed, hoping that Dean would grow bored and drop off again, meaning only one of them would suffer through the night. He really should have known better though, as he heard the covers rustle on the other bed, he should have known Dean wouldn't give up. He listened as his brother's footsteps grew closer, his eyes still firmly closed, his mind assaulted by reminders of the dream. He felt the bed lilt beside him, felt the comforting feel of his brother's body next to his through the blankets. Unable to hold back any longer he turned into his sibling, the fears he had been holding back releasing as he sobbed into his chest. He gladly accepted the love that emanated from his sibling, the comfort that his arms wrapped around him provided, and the reassurances that it was only a bad dream, allowing the words to soothe him even though he truly felt they were lies too, even though he knew just what his father would look like when he returned later that day; if he returned at all.

**A.N. . . . . . . Well is it worth adding a few more chapters? Let me know! Thanks as always for reading, Peanut x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Visions.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Just playing in Kripkie's sandbox.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter, I can only hope that you enjoy chapter 2 as much. Peanut x**

He didn't bother hiding the scream that rent from his mouth, there was no one there to hear it anyway. He bolted from the bed as he felt sickness swirl within his stomach, his too long legs and uncoordinated feet tangling within the blankets to send him crashing to the floor, his gangly arms unable to stop his descent, one wrist not quick enough to move out of the way of his tumbling body, the limb taking the full weight of him, bending awkwardly before snapping, the sound vicious and loud in the other wise quiet room. He couldn't prevent the vomit that rose then, the acid liquid spilling from his lips to add it's own stain to the many that littered the threadbare carpeting of their latest home, sobs fighting with last nights dinner to see which one could block up his throat quicker. He rolled over onto his back, trembling with shock, cold and pain, eager to get as far away as possible from the stench his mess had created, yet unable to move too far, his weakened body protesting even the slightest move.

Bringing a hand up to his head he kneaded at the tightness that seemed to clamp viciously down inside his skull, his vision blurring as agonizing spikes of pain seemed to burrow their way into his brain; the all too familiar sensation he had felt once before twisting away at his guts. His dream had come true back then, he could only hope that this time it didn't. Bile rose as he remembered waking six months earlier, petrified and confused, a dream so unlike anything he had ever felt before still lingering, it's icy strands clenching uncomfortably at his heart, not releasing even for a second until he heard the familiar sound of a key scraping into a lock. When his Dad had eventually returned, seemingly unharmed, he had relaxed putting his dream down to the over active imagination of a thirteen year old boy. Only when he had caught sight, through a crack in the bathroom door, of his Dad's torn torso had he considered something else could possibly be at work. What though, he didn't know, and there was no way he was going to try and explain that one to his Father. "So Dad, I had a freaky dream where you were injured just like you are now." Somehow, Sam knew, that statement would never sit well with a man who could only see shades of black and white. So he had kept quiet, explaining away his sickly pallor, and shaky appearance to a sudden bout of flu, only really letting his tumultuous emotions to surface when he knew he was truly alone.

Alone. God, as he lay prone on the floor, how he wished he wasn't just that at this moment in time. He would even take Dean's mother hen-ing and constant questions if only his brother was here to take away the pain that resounded throughout his head and spiked cruelly up his arm. He knew he should move, but to do so would unsettle his gradually calming stomach, and no doubt reignite the throbbing that scoured his body. He chanced rolling onto his side, his eyes slamming shut as his head pounded out a marching beat to match the movement, replays of the dream echoing through his mind threatening to unbalance him yet again as he was repeatedly shown what was probably happening somewhere in a Minnesota cemetery at this very moment. He bit down heavily on his lip as a particularly brutal image slammed into his head, tears streaming down his face, his brother's name caught on his tongue as he witnessed Dean being thrown savagely through the air, his brother grunting in pain as he eventually collided with one of the many marble pillars that littered the ground, his head cracked loudly against the unforgiving rock, his body suspended for a few seconds before crumpling to the ground where it lay deathly still.

He shook his head, determined to lose the ghastly image, not caring that the resulting movement caused yet more agony to consume him, his body shutting down and threatening to take him deep within the darkness where all aches and pains seemed to ebb and die, but he fought against it's encroachment, a need growing within him fueling him to move, a need to make sure that Dean was okay. He crawled on shaky hands and knees over to the one luxury the small motel room offered, taking a few breaths to steady his nerves and resting his throbbing head on the bed Dean usually slept on before picking up the receiver and dialing a number he knew by heart, the need to hear Dean's voice growing. He almost collapsed in relief as his brother's mocking tone finally answered, his emotions a roller coaster ride as he conversed with his sibling, his fears abating as the banter between them grew easy, the dream forgotten as he listened to his brother's excited voice.

"So your all done? Your on your way back?" He asked, immediately cringing as Dean picked up on the underlying tone in his voice. He parried the concerned questions that his brother replied back with, fixing a smile in place as he insisted he was fine, just tired. He couldn't help though asking the question again, his hopes soaring as Dean told him they were, only to be dashed as he added. "We just have to salt and burn the body." His heart sank as the words filtered down the phone line, his pause enough of an indication to his brother that all was not right, Dean asking once again if he was alright. Sam steeled himself for the lies he was about to utter, how could he explain? How could he tell Dean what was wrong, without giving away what he knew?, His head falling wearily to his chest as he once again insisted he was. The tears began to flow again as Dean started to say his goodbyes, his own farewells seeming hollow even to his own ears. He started to replace the receiver, only to stop and shout Dean's name once again. He waited, a small part of him thinking he was too late, that Dean had gone, until his brother's voice once again sounded out. Choking back a sob, he spoke. "Please be careful. Be really, really careful, okay?" Before replacing the receiver, A sense of dread engulfing him, before the aches and pains of the night finally dragged him under.

**A.N. . . . . . . . . Thanks as always for reading, Peanut x**


	3. Chapter 3

**Visions.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Just playing in Kripkie's sandbox.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . As a lover of Sam's visions, and a believer that they never really did enough with them, I thought I would do a series of short chapters based on them. So here's chapter 3, enjoy, Peanut x**

Sam groaned as he felt the familiar build up behind his eyes, the signal that he was more than likely due yet another one of his brutish and violent dreams. Over the years he had become attuned to the feelings he experienced before each nightmarish dream, at first passing the signals off as little more than common ailments, only realizing their significance after one particularly brutal assault that had him laid up in bed for days afterwards, with little to do but think about what had occurred, his young mind coming to the conclusion that the symptoms were connected, yet still not knowing what it all meant. Whilst both the effects and the dreams scared the living daylights out of him, he still refused to tell anyone of the pain and torture he suffered both mentally and physically from each bout; choosing instead to suffer in unimaginable agony each time he was awoken by them. His only saving grace, his only brief snippet of comfort was that so far none of the dreams had ever come true, sure there had been some similarities, hell even some close calls, but after every dream, and numerous calls from himself asking, begging them to be careful, his family had always returned alive, making Sam feel less guilty about his secret.

The more the dreams occurred, the more he'd become an expert at hiding his pain; so stealthy in fact that he knew his father and his brother were still in the dark about what was going on; so stealthy that he knew, if his dad ever found out, that he would be proud of his son for once in his life. He had fought with his father over the years for a room of his own, their fights getting more and more intense, as he fought to gain the solitude he needed to keep his secret just that, a secret, deep down knowing that as he got older and the experiences grew in intensity, he would be unable to keep them from Dean for much longer. He hated though that his fight for independence has caused a rift to grow between him and his brother, but he knew he could never tell what troubled him in his dreams, to do so would only turn him into one of the things his family hunted so passionately. Tonight though he knew he would have a problem, tonight he wasn't alone, tonight they were all staying in a small, cramped, run down motel room, tonight Sam would have nowhere to hide. That thought frightened him more than any of his dreams ever had, the thought that his small family would tonight find out just how much of a freak he really was. He sat on his bed, supposedly researching, his hand finding it's way to knead at his temples every time he felt his brother's eyes leave him. He needed to figure out a way to be alone, but he knew that would be easier said than done. Ever since his family had returned from hunting a particularly nasty wood spirit two years ago to find him riddled with infection from a severely broken wrist, his thin body shaking from fever induced chills, he had been lucky to even get half an hour a day alone to have a shower, never mind having a night alone so that he could scream out loud as the terror struck. Sighing deeply he could only wish that he was wrong, that this wasn't going to be one of those awful things; or that he could some how muffle his anguish quickly when he awoke. Pushing the research aside, and turning off the bedside lamp, gaining curious looks from the rest of his family, he turned over onto his side and prayed for daylight.

He really should have known better, as he was roused sometime later, to a pair strong hands gripping his shoulders tightly, his body shaking every now and then as the owner of said hands tried desperately to bring him out of the daze he was caught in. He knew he must look strange, terrifying; knew that although his eyes were wide open, the pupils that stared out of them were dull and sightless; knew all this because his mind was elsewhere, caught in a nightmare he couldn't escape from. He shrunk into himself as the vivid and brutal scenes played out in his mind, his subconscious trying desperately to withdraw him from the vicious sights, and back into the comfort of oblivion; but it was all to no use as he was forced to witness yet again the horrors soon to be bestowed upon the people he loved. He collapsed into what he presumed was his brother's frame as the nightmare finally stopped, his body sweat soaked, spent and trembling, wetness trailing down his cheeks. He blinked slowly as the motel room slowly began to return, and shook his head to try and clear the blurriness from his vision, intensifying the throbbing in his skull by doing so, and bringing nausea rushing up into his throat, clinging there, choking him. His hands pushed at the arms that held him needing to break free from their restraints, his heart pounding, his lungs burning, as he struggled to take in much needed air. Finally he was released, and confused, scared, embarrassed and feeling totally alone he sank gratefully into the mattress, muffling a mumbled "I'm sorry" and pulling his duvet over his face, effectively closing himself off, ignore his brother's worried voice asking questions he didn't think he could give the answers to.

He didn't know how long he lay there cocooned, trying desperately to calm his frazzled nerves and bring his uncontrollable breathing back down to normal, before he heard his father's gruff voice ring out and felt Dean's form reluctantly rise from it's spot beside him. He wanted to ease his way from his confines, to shout out loud that he needed his brother beside him, that he longed for the comfort that form gave him, that he needed the words that were spoken soothingly towards him, that he felt cold, alone and empty when his brother was gone; but at the same time he relished the thought of being alone, to wallow deep in his own grief and sorrow, to not have to lie because he could never tell the truth; so he stayed wrapped beneath the sheets, his hands gripping firmly to the rough cotton, grounding him until his body, too tired to complain or fight, took him back into the darkness.

**A.N. . . . . . . . As always I hope that you enjoyed? Thanks as always for taking time to read, I'll be back soon with a new chapter, Peanut x**


	4. Chapter 4

**Visions.**

**Summary. . . . . . . . . . A look at how Sam's visions could have happened throughout the years.**

**Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Just playing in Kripkie's sandbox.**

**A.N. . . . . . . . As a lover of Sam's visions, and a believer that they never really did enough with them, I thought I would do a series of short chapters based upon them. Well chapter 4 has been lounging around on my laptop such a long time now, it had grown it's own cobwebs, I thought I'd have a spring clean, dusted off the bunnies and got back to work on it. So here it is, enjoy. Peanut x**

* * *

He shook uncontrollably as the last remaining remnants of the vision slowly deserted his mind. Feeling his legs about to give way, the muscles having lost their usual strength, the bones seemingly disappeared, turned into rubbery jelly. He dropped harshly to the rapidly cooling porcelain of the tub; his knees automatically drawing up to his chest, his too heavy head lowering itself to rest on them, the bony knee caps sticking deeply into his sockets. He pressed deeper willing the pain to ebb, hoping to push away the vicious scenes he had born witness to, but it was no use, eyes open or closed the scenes refused to let up, repeating themselves over and over again.

He sat there ignoring the harsh banging's upon the wooden door that separated him from his new family, and concentrated on quelling his swirling stomach, and breathing through the pain as he had always been taught. He winced as he heard Jess' father add his concerned voice to that of his lover, his battered mind frantically trying to think of a way to explain what was going on. He knew he had woken up screaming, knew that he had scared Jess out of her mind before he had fled their shared room and retreated into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him and locking it, something he would never do at home. He'd clambered into the tub and turned on the water hoping that he could wash away everything that he had seen and everything that he had heard; but all that action did was worry Jess even more, her cries for him to respond, and her banging on the door increasing.

He didn't know how long he had sat there, the showers water gradually cooling as it poured down upon him. He didn't hear the click of the lock as it was finally picked from the other side. He didn't feel the water stop it's tumbling, or the shaking that rattled his frame. Didn't even feel the comfort of his lovers body against his own, or the soft towel that was slowly wiping the dampness from his skin. All he felt, all he could see, all he could hear; was the fear, and the blood, and the destruction, and the noise, and the screams still rattling around his head from the vision; but most of all he could feel, was the fire.

Gradually senses began to return, the tender touch of Jess' hand brushing down his face, her concerned voice whispering in his ear, the eyes of her parents from the doorway. He shifted trying to hide himself, ashamed about what had just happened, but there was no where to go, and there was no way to explain, and anyway it couldn't be true, cause that would mean. . . . . . . . . . . . . . He shuddered violently, as the visions remnants played once again within his mind, as he was reminded of what was to come, of what he had to prevent; but he didn't want to believe it, couldn't believe it. It couldn't happen, it wouldn't happen.

He knew he should dig deeper into what he had seen, look more closely at it and begin to take measures to prevent it, getting Jess away for one; but that would mean believing it, and he couldn't. So he pushed it to the back of his mind, locked it away and refused to think about it; if he didn't think about it, it couldn't be true right? He spewed forth apologies, claimed it was just a bad dream, that he was okay, and that he was sorry for disturbing them all so. Jess' parents took his word, but he could see, could tell from her actions, from her features, her eyes, that Jess was skeptical, that she didn't believe him. He waited for her Mom and Dad to leave, waited until they were all alone, before trying to reassure her that everything was alright, that he was okay, that once again it was just a bad dream; hating the fact that he was lying, but knowing there was no way he could tell the truth.

She refused to walk away from him as the lies continued to spew forth, instead reassured him she would be there for him no matter what, that she could wait until he felt ready to open up and talk to her. And she was, every time that same dream haunted his nights, she was there for him, begging him to talk about it, to ease his burden, and lighten the load that consumed him; but he knew he never would, that he would carry the burden himself, wishing every time that he could open up and tell her, yet every time putting it off until the next, each time telling himself that he would leave her to keep her safe, but each time not able to do so; until finally it was too late, until finally the burden broke him, and the dream came true.

**A.N. . . . . . . . . . . . Thanks for taking time out to read, I hope you enjoyed? Peanut x**


End file.
